


Rolls Are Overrated

by lisacali



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:12:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3221897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisacali/pseuds/lisacali
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for aleanorblack for the  <a href="http://www.oz-magi.livejournal.com">2014 Oz Magi Challenge.</a></p><p>What would Christmas be like for Beecher and Keller if they weren't in OZ. Where Keller is the house husband, trying to make everything perfect for Beecher and his family. Also can include Keller's family (We don't know much about them in canon). NOT TOO angsty! It is Christmas after all. And maybe, Keller wearing an apron and nothing else (after the in-laws leave of course).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rolls Are Overrated

**Author's Note:**

> This actually is more of a Thanksgiving dinner, though it’s kind of ambiguous.

_//Tobias slipped into the courtroom, his intention to sit in the back and check his e-mail while he waited for his colleague to finish up in the next courtroom so they could go to lunch. Just as he was about to sit, the judge, Judge Connor called his name._

_“Mr. Beecher, what are you doing right now?”_

_“Uh, I’m…I’m just waiting for someone.”_

_“So you have a few minutes.”_

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was caught off guard and couldn’t come up with anything. “I suppose so, Your Honor.”_

_“Good. Come up here please. The defendant here, Mr. Keller, is without counsel, his lawyer having failed to arrive. You have ten minutes to discuss the case with him and then enter his plea.”_

_Toby might have argued if it had been anyone other than Connor, who was notorious for not giving a shit about your personal issues. And when he saw the defendant, watching him approach with a piercing gaze and cocky grin, he didn’t think he would have argued with any judge.//_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Toby dropped his briefcase by the back door and silently took in the sight of the disaster zone that just a few hours ago had been their clean and relatively clutter-free kitchen. He couldn’t imagine what Chris had been doing that would explain the amount of dishes overflowing from the sink and covering the counter next to it.  
   
There were egg shells and measuring cups and measuring spoons and mixing spoons and whisks scattered across the flour covered work space on the island in the middle of the kitchen and…was that the phone receiver laying on the floor beside it? He looked to the spot on the wall where it belonged and the base was also on the floor.  
   
It did smell great though, and Toby moved to the oven and opened it. He reached for the tinfoil tent covering the turkey, jerking back, startled, when Chris’ voice came roaring at him.  
   
“Stop! You can’t move the foil until it’s almost done!”  
   
Toby turned around. “Jesus, I just wanted a peek.” But the sight of Chris, standing there in a blue chef’s apron spotted with flour, and looking about ten years older than he had this morning, caused Toby to gently close the oven door and cross the room.  
   
Before he could say anything, Chris grabbed him by the shoulders. “Why didn’t you answer the phone? Where have you been?”  
   
“Well,” Toby answered, seeing that Chris needed a calming answer, “you do know that I had to go to an emergency session of court today. And that’s why I didn’t answer my phone. When I got out of court, I tried to call you back but I can see why you didn’t answer.” He stared pointedly at the phone ripped from the wall, but Chris offered no explanation. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”  
   
“I can’t find it. I think it’s on mute, I dropped it a couple times.”  
   
Toby got a horrible thought; his eyes widened, though he did refrain from turning to look at the oven. Chris must have read his mind.  
   
“And no, it’s not in the fucking turkey!”  
   
“Okay, Mr. Bean, I didn’t say anything! You still have your watch?”  
   
Chris glanced at his wrist before snapping. “I don’t wear a watch! And who the fuck is Mr. Bean?”  
   
Toby shook his head. “Later.” Toby went to the cupboard and got a glass and a bottle of whiskey. He poured a healthy drink and taking Chris by the hand, led him to the small kitchen table. “Here, you sit, drink this, and wait for me to change my clothes.”  
   
“I can’t sit, there’s too much to do.” But Chris let Toby push him into the chair and he accepted the drink handed to him.  
   
“Five minutes. You stay put.”  
   
Toby took a two minute shower and dressed quickly in sweat pants and a t-shirt and hurried back downstairs. Chris had finished his drink and was chomping on a stalk of celery.  
   
“So,” Toby said, sitting across from his lover, “tell me what the hell is going on in here.”  
   
“Okay, so the store called and said that they didn’t have those rolls that we ordered that your mom likes because one of their ovens went down and that’s why I was trying to call you to see if you could stop on your way home before everything closed, so I tried to make some but apparently when a recipe calls for yeast and baking powder you really need those so, well, fuck.”  
   
“Rolls are over-rated anyhow, you know. We have two kinds of potatoes and stuffing and pie it’s just a huge carb overload.”  
   
Chris looked at Toby like he had just grown another head. “You’re kidding, right? You have to have rolls!”  
   
“Chris, calm down. Let’s work with what we have and worry about the rolls later.”  
   
Toby started throwing dishes in the dishwasher while Chris wiped counters and swept the floor and put the phone back together, before going to shower and dress.

When Toby’s mother called to say they were on their way, he pulled the peeled potatoes from the fridge, added cream and butter and furiously mashed them then set them on the stove to warm. Chris came down and surveyed the scene.

He took a deep breath and pulled Toby into his arms. “I think it’s going to be okay.”

“Of course it is.” Toby rubbed Chris’ back. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here this morning, I know how important this is – you did great.” Toby’s hands slid further south, and he pulled Chris tighter. “We have a few minutes until my folks get here, you wanna go make out under the Christmas tree?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Chris growled in Toby’s ear, running his fingers through the short, golden hair. “All I need is to answer the door with a hard-on.” He kissed Toby hard, then stepped back. “Just wait until everyone’s gone.”

The men checked on the potatoes and turkey, then Chris plugged in the tree lights and set out the plate of hors d’oeuvres he had made, spicing nuts and painstakingly stuffing olives himself, along with cheese and crackers. Toby quickly changed into slacks and a light blue pullover sweater and hurried to mix a pitcher of martinis at the small bar between the dining room and living room.

“You really outdid yourself, Chris. We could have catered, or bought a lot of this already made.”

“You know I like a challenge.” Chris winked. “And I need to show your family I’m earning my keep.”

Toby grinned. “I could tell them how you *really* earn your keep – that would make for some good dinner conversation.”

Chris looked shocked. “Are you calling me a sex object?”

“Have you seen yourself naked? Of course I am!”

Chris’ response was interrupted by the doorbell. “Fuck, they’re here!”

Toby had to laugh, though Chris’ look of panic did invoke his sympathies. “It’s my parents and grandmother, not the Spanish Inquisition.”

“I know, I just…” He grabbed Toby’s hand and squeezed. “I just want them to like me.”

“You know they like you.”

Chris nodded. “But I want them to like that you’re with me – there’s a big fucking difference.”

Toby was touched by this. Chris tended to go through life with a basic, ‘I don’t give a fuck’ mentality on display; he seldom let this softer, more vulnerable side show.

Toby quickly kissed his lover’s cheek. “They’re not going to like either one of us if we don’t answer the door.”

“Fuck!” Chris hurried to the front door.

“And don’t say ‘fuck’ so much,” Toby called in a stage whisper as the door opened.

“Mr. and Mrs. Beecher, sorry to keep you waiting.”

Toby smiled with pride as Chris took coats and they all made polite small talk. His parents had been more than a little dismayed when Toby had told them about Chris. It hadn’t been long before that that they had come to terms with him not marrying and having grandchildren. But they had been quick to accept Chris, even though he knew there was still some trepidation about his lengthy, if minor, run-ins with the law.

“Hello, Mother. Dad.” He gave them both a kiss. “Didn’t Grandma come with you?” His grandmother was still notoriously independent, and often drove herself to gatherings so she could leave or stay as she pleased.

“Oh, yes, she’s outside talking with Christopher’s father about his car. I didn’t know he was coming.”

“Who?” Toby and Chris both practically shouted this as they ran for the door.

Mr. Beecher was close behind. “That isn’t your father? Who is she talking to?”

The four from the house ended up in the front yard, staring at Beatrice Beecher standing on the sidewalk, talking with a very distinguished gentleman, in front of a beautifully restored 1960s era Rolls Royce. They looked at the group and waved.

“Hello, Tobias, Christopher,” Beatrice said.

“Hello, Mrs. Beecher.” Chris grabbed Toby’s hand. “Hello, Charlie.”

The other man, Charlie, nodded. “Hello, son, how have you been?”

Toby knew Chris had a complicated relationship with his father, though not necessarily a bad one. With no mother in the picture – she left when Chris was small – his father had done a decent enough job raising his son, seeing nothing wrong with teaching him the family trade when he was old enough, which was running cons, fencing, and orchestrating elaborate Ponzi schemes.

_//”He made sure I had a good breakfast and made it to school and when my homework was done he would teach me how to pick pockets.”_

_“When was the last time you saw him?”_

_“Two days before I met you. He was the one that set up that phone scam they busted me on. I was supposed to meet him in Florida the next day – he got out just in time.”_

_“What? Why didn’t you tell me? It could’ve been easier for you if we knew someone else had been in charge.”_

_Chris rolled over on top of Toby, sliding his hands up his sides under his t-shirt. “You got me off just fine, no need to bring him in on it.”_

_The two stared into each other’s faces. “That just sounded so bad,” Toby finally said._

_“Shut up. My turn to get you off.” Chris slid down Toby’s body and Toby shut up.//_

 

Back in the house, Charles apologized to Toby and Chris for showing up unexpectedly.

“I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it until the last minute. I’m on my way from Detroit to deliver the car to a friend in Florida. I thought I’d have to drive straight through but found out just this morning that I’ve got a couple extra days until I have to be there. So here I am! I tried to call, but neither number I have worked.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. The home phone is working now, just so you know.” Chris quirked a brow. “A friend?”

“Sure, kid, I have friends.” He laughed.

“You must be a good friend to drive a car all that way,” said Mrs. Beecher.

“Well, I have time on my hands and I do love to drive. Especially going from North to South, leaving the cold behind for sunshine and beaches.”

“You’re retired, then?” asked Harrison Beecher, taking the martini Toby offered.

“Oh, for the most part,” Charlie said, sipping his own drink. “Delicious. I still do a little investing, and help a few people here and there with their own investments.”

Toby and Chris shot knowing looks at each other. “I better check dinner,” Chris said, moving toward the kitchen.

“I’ll go with you,” said Mrs. Beecher, “and get started on the gravy, if you think the turkey is done, Chris.”

“It should be, Ma’am.”

“That makes me sound like a school marm, Chris. Please, just call me Ellen.”

“Okay, Ellen.”

Toby kept the others entertained while his mother and Chris finished up in the kitchen. He popped in once, finding the two in deep conversation, his mother giving her secrets to a smooth, homemade gravy.

“You go make sure your father doesn’t have more than one drink, or he doesn’t get any wine at dinner, you hear, Toby?”

“Yes, Mother.” Toby gave a reassuring smile to his lover before returning to the others.

 

Dinner was a success. The turkey breast could have been called a tad dry, but with gravy or Beatrice’s cranberry/orange salad on it, it was delicious.

There were two kinds of potatoes, dressing, a three-bean salad Toby had made the day before, and the remains of the relish tray from the living room. “See,” Toby whispered as they all took their seats, “the rolls aren’t even an issue.”

Chris wrapped an arm around Toby’s shoulder. “Thanks for everything, babe. I’ll make it up to you later.”

Everyone was impressed, most of all Charlie. “Christopher, when did you learn to do all this? Certainly not from me.”

“I watched a lot of cooking shows.”

“And he had the Butterball hotline on speed-dial,” Toby added with a wink, “before the phone debacle.”

During dinner, Charlie and Beatrice Beecher found they had a lot in common, including a love of swing music, and discovered they had both seen Benny Goodman in his heyday in New York.

“Why, you must have been a mere child at the time,” Charlie said.

Beatrice gave a small roll of her eyes. “I’m not easily flattered, Mr. Keller.”

“A statement of fact, my dear, that is all.”

Toby leaned toward Chris, bringing his wine glass close to his lips to hide behind. “Is your father hitting on my grandmother?”

“Yes. Is she letting him?”

Toby looked over his wine glass at his grandmother, now giggling – giggling!- and patting Charlie’s hand.

“Yes.”

 

After dinner, and after pie and coffee in the living room, Charlie and Chris stepped outside for a cigarette.

“So,” asked Ellen, “what do you know about Chris’ father?”

“Uh, not much,” Toby hedged. “Chris talks to him occasionally on the phone but he hasn’t seen him in two years, so I’m not really sure.”

Harrison looked skeptical. “Maybe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Meaning?”

“I think you know what I mean. He’s into investments? That could mean just about anything.”

Toby was getting irate, but before he could answer, his grandmother cut in.

“Does it matter, Harrison? Perhaps Christopher had some bumps in the road, but he makes our Tobias happy and he’s turned himself around. What his father does doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“I suppose not, Mother.”

Toby gave his grandmother a grateful smile.

 

When the men in question returned, they were both smiling. Charlie went to Toby and took his hand. “I want to thank you for making my boy so happy. I wish I could stay longer and get to know you better, but I have to be leaving in the morning, and I’ve recently made some plans for the evening.”

“I’m really glad you made it, Charlie. Hopefully, next time you can stay longer.”

“Or you two can make it down to Florida. Think about it when you’re freezing your asses off here in February.” He turned to the couch and held out his hand to Beatrice, who was getting to her feet. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Ready for what?” Harrison and Ellen stood up, looking alarmed.

“Charles has offered to take me for a drive in that lovely Rolls.”

“What?” Everyone looked at Chris.

“Uh, Charlie…?”

“Yes, son?”

Chris looked at Toby and shrugged. He turned back to his father and Beatrice. “You two have a nice evening. Beatrice, thank you so much for the cranberry salad, it was delicious.” He stepped over and gave Charlie a big hug. Toby saw him whispering something in his ear.

“Mother, I don’t…”

Beatrice held up her hand. “All I want to hear is ‘Have a nice time,’ or just zip it.”

Toby choked down a laugh and kissed his grandmother on the cheek. “Love you, Nana.”

“Love you, too, my boy.”

“Well, I guess we’ll be going as well,” said Ellen, and everyone put on their coats. “It was a wonderful dinner, Chris. Thank you so much for inviting us.”

“Thank you for all your help.”

Toby and Chris followed everyone outside and waved their good-byes.

“Your poor parents are just horrified, aren’t they?”

Toby laughed. “I think they know you would have stepped in if you thought there was a problem.” They went back in, closing the door against the cold and the long day. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him that if that car was stolen and he got caught he better do some slick talking to keep your grandmother’s name out of it.”

“I’m not sure if that’s reassuring or not.”

The men decided to clear the table, scrape the dishes and leave the rest for the next day. They talked over the day as they cleaned. “You should be amazingly proud of yourself, Chris. Dinner was a huge success.”

“The morning sucked huge ones, Tobe.”

“But you turned it around, right?”

“You turned it around, babe.” Chris took the plates Toby was holding and set them in the sink. “As soon as you got home it all got better.” He wrapped his arms around Toby and kissed him; he pulled away after a moment, laughing. “God, I sound like some housewife, just waiting for hubby to get home to make her life complete.”

“Hmm, I’m sure there’s several housewives out there that would like to smack you one with a rolling pin for that comment.”

“You know what I mean. It’s just all so different, being with you, but this is exactly where I should be. He rubbed his thumb across Toby’s bottom lip. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” After another kiss, Toby went to the garbage can by the back door and pulled the bag from it. “It’s garbage day tomorrow – I’ll take the can to the street now so we don’t have to get up tomorrow.”

“Ever?” Chris asked with a leer.

“Well, I guess someone will have to get the wine. Be right back.”

When Toby came back in, the kitchen was empty and dark. “Chris?”

“Wait! Okay, come on in the living room.”

When Toby walked in, Chris was waiting for him in a candle-lit room, holding a glass of wine in each hand and wearing his flour-smudged apron…and nothing else.

“Wow, you’re fast…and pretty fucking hot.”

“Let me show you how slow I can be.” He handed one of the glasses to Toby.

“Mmm, good.” He took a long sip, then stepped back, admiring the bare, sculpted legs and arms of his lover. He just needed to see one more thing. “Hey, did you ever find your phone? Maybe it’s under the couch.”

“I never even came in here this morning.”

“Well, you never know. Why don’t you just get down there and look?”

Chris studied Toby. “You just want to look at my ass!”

“I think you knew that was inevitable when you put on that apron.”

Chris swallowed his wine in a gulp, put the glass down, then sauntered to the couch, kneeling in front of it and then bending over, giving Toby a magnificent view. Toby bit his lip and felt himself grow hard at the thought of burying himself between those amazing mounds of flesh.

Chris stood up. “Nope, no phone.”

Toby shrugged. “Maybe it’s under the bed.”

“Maybe. Let’s go look.”

Toby grabbed their glasses and the bottle of wine. “Right behind you.”

 

end  



End file.
